Introductions
by Mirvena
Summary: It's Lady P's first visit to the island. But there are a few things Jeff has neglected to mention.
1. Chapter 1

Many thanks to those of you who have reviewed. Yes, it's complete, barring any more corrections, though it's part of what I hope will eventually be a series, each in one character's 'voice'. I'm just slow at finding my way around the system and forgot to tick the right box! I could usefully employ John to do this stuff for me.

Mostly TV-verse but N.B. characterisations are sometimes off-beat / a tad AU. As and when I get some more writing time, the Scott-Jeff-Grandma thing will eventually go somewhere, I promise.

This version has corrections to Chapter 2, with thanks and apologies to Quiller. _Doh_ - how _could_ I have forgotten that?! But the tatt stays.

...

Standard disclaimer: Much as I would like to, I do not own any of them and have merely borrowed them from their present owners. This is my first fanfic – please review if you are minded. The descriptions are not quite canonical (whose are?) but genetically almost plausible.

P.S. Am I the only person who finds Grandma just a little sinister?

…

**Introductions**

**Two Days in the Life of Lady P.**

**Day 1.**

_- This is _no_ way to treat a Porsche - _

They were travelling slowly along the interstate. So _very_ slowly. Aggravatingly, almost-enough-to-make-one-forget-one's-upbringing _slowly_. They hadn't so much as brushed with a speed limit. Penelope wondered idly how the very nice young man next to her would react if she hit him over the head and grabbed the wheel.

He seemed oblivious to the tail-gating, blaring horns, and burning rubber as other vehicles accelerated past him on either side. Sorely tempted as she was, she reined in her increasing irritation, and contented herself with a question.

"How far, darling?"

"To the airstrip? Just another fifteen, sixteen miles or so."

_- Half an hour at this rate_ -

She stole a sideways look at the driver. They had met for the first time an hour earlier, when he had collected her from the International Airport.

She'd been expecting Jeff himself, and had initially strained to see above the crowd in the terminal, looking for his familiar tall figure and shock of greying-auburn hair. When it was clear he wasn't there, she'd tipped a porter to wheel her luggage out to the pick-up zone.

A little later the red convertible had drawn alongside and a young man leapt out over the door, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man. Very tall, built like a bear, but pleasant looking. His light chestnut hair appeared unruffled by the journey. The flamboyant pale green suit over Hawaiian shirt would have looked ridiculous on most men, but he carried it off well enough.

"Lady Penelope?"

She had been startled. "Yes?..."

She had opened her mouth to protest as he began to bundle her suitcases energetically into the trunk of the car.

"Dad couldn't make it and sent me to pick you up."

_Dad?_ The light dawned. "Ah. You must be John."

He'd stopped, a confused look flitting briefly across his eyes.

"No, ma'am. Maybe you're confusing me for my brother? I'm Virgil." He had seized her hand, dwarfed it in his enormous grip, and shaken it vigorously.

...

_It had started some months earlier when she and Jeff had met at a charity function in London - although it was some time later before she realised the meeting had not been accidental. She had chatted vacuously to the legendary billionaire about all sorts of inconsequential things, but he had asked for her card, and the next day he had called her. _

_She was a little surprised that he was interested in her. At first she was flattered by the number of questions he had asked, but they became gradually more probing, and she had begun to feel uneasy. Jefferson Tracy did not seem like the type to go for dizzy young blondes. _

_It appeared that her carefully-constructed persona was more transparent than she had thought. _

_It was not until a second visit some weeks later that Jeff had admitted he knew all about the occasional work she did for British Intelligence, and had broached the topic of his plans for her. She had not taken him seriously. _

_The talk of a top-secret outfit with state-of-the-art equipment designed for rescue work, and a global network of intelligence gathering spies sounded like the ramblings of a wealthy if slightly deluded man with a superhero complex. _

_For the time being, though, she indulged him, for by then the relationship had unexpectedly – as they say – blossomed, and playing along with his wild imaginings wasn't going to hurt it any. _

_He visited her once more in the autumn – or as he so charmingly put it – the fall - this time at the stately home she had inherited as the only child of a minor Earl; the dear, dear departed Brigadier. _

_There, on their last night together, Jeff had started to tell her about his island home and a little about his private life. _Only_ a little, as it had turned out._

"_So why don't you come over to see the work we've been doing? You can get a feel for the outfit and see whether you'd like to be part of the operation. If you come next month you can meet the family too." Then he grimaced faintly. "Everybody's home for thanksgiving – Mother will be there, John will be back from…."_

"_John?"_

"_My son."_

"_Your son?" Penny was a little bemused. _

_When things had first started getting serious she'd done some scouting online. A girl needs to do her research. But meaningful information on Jeff Tracy was surprisingly sparse. There was no mention of a family. _

_Jeff was – at present counts – in the top five on the world's rich list. Surely if there had been a Tracy heir there would be some sign of it somewhere? She would certainly have seen the name on any self-respecting 'eligible bachelor' list, at the very least. _

_Perhaps, then, the Tracy son wasn't old enough to be on the lists. Or he wasn't a bachelor. _

"_Is he grown up?"_

"_Some of the time," Jeff had retorted wryly._

_  
"With family of his own?" she had asked. _

_It occurred to her, as she suppressed a faint feeling of panic, that Jeff was old enough to have grandchildren. She was not overly fond of children._

"_Twice married. If you count two weeks as a marriage," Jeff had said sourly. She seemed to have hit a sore spot. "Twice divorced. Both his wives cited infidelity and I have no reason to disbelieve them. And he'd think absolutely nothing of trying to steal his old man's girl. So flirt all you like. But…" he left it unsaid, but there had been a slightly possessive glint in his eye. _

_Penny shifted uncomfortably and tried to lighten the tone. "No Mrs Tracy?" she asked mischievously._

_Jeff deliberately misinterpreted her. "Mother will be there, yes, I told you."_

"_I meant your wife."_

_His face had remained utterly impassive, and yet somehow his expression had changed, softened a little. "She's been dead a long time."_

"_I'm sorry, Jeff," she had said simply. _

...

And so she had given Parker and Cookie a fortnight off, and jetted out to the States, and here she was, _trundling_ along the highway.

Virgil had, after an eternity, pulled in at a small private airfield. He had kept up an easy chatter throughout the journey, pointing out this and that along the way. He was a very likeable young man, she reflected, but so _deadly_ earnest.

She issued a stern mental reminder to herself.

_- Americans simply do not understand sarcasm_ -

She hoped his flying was faster than his driving. Otherwise they risked running out of fuel mid-Pacific. But she needn't have worried. Virgil, it seemed, was much more at home in the air.

Much of the journey was uneventful, hundreds of miles of open ocean. So she could not help a tiny thrill at the first sight of the island.

"There you go, Lady Penelope, that's what we like to call home."

It rose sharply from the vast still expanse of water, the volcanic shape brooding over the millpond that surrounded it.

"Goodness. How big is it?"

"About three by eight, with..."

"_Base to one-niner?"_

Virgil grabbed the handset.

"One-niner receiving you."

"_Have you on radar. You're clear for touch-down, Virj_."

"Nothing else in the vicinity?"

"_Nothing due back for a few hours. Wind speed on the ground is pretty negligible. Just a light breeze west-south-west_."

"F.A.B, bro'."

Penny pricked up her ears.

_- F.A.B.?_ -

Virgil settled back and turned to smile at her. Eyes an extraordinary shade of amber, but deep-set, under heavy brows.

_- Not Jeff's eyes– _

She wondered about Jeff's wife.

"_That_ was my brother, John." He grinned. "Did Dad warn you about him by any chance?"

"The lothario? Yes, dear," she murmured. "But what a dark horse your father is –I wasn't expecting two of you."

"Two of…." he stopped and shot her another confused look.

"I had no idea Jeff had two grown sons. He neglected to mention you," she admitted. She suddenly realised how this must have sounded and tried vainly to airbrush it a little. "I'm so sorry, dear. I presume it's because _you're_ a perfect gentleman."

Virgil shook his head, a little wonderingly. "Just let me get this absolutely straight. Dad mentioned Johnny to you – but that's _it_?" He sniffed and fell silent.

He pointed the nose of the little jet down, and they came in impossibly low across the water, a pebble skimming the giant millpond.

_- Oh dear_ - Penny mused. She'd offended this very nice young man, she was sure. But if she had, it was short-lived, because he turned to her and flashed her a brilliant smile as they taxied.

"Well, welcome to the island, Lady Penelope. We're real happy to have you as a guest. We're a pretty laid-back lot, but we do have just one rule, for your own safety. If you hear a loud klaxon go off, you have exactly ten seconds to get out of the swimming pool."

He appeared to be perfectly serious.

Penny pondered this.

_- Do they let the pet sharks out? _

...

She was still musing over this unlikely imperative as they disembarked, but was no closer to figuring it out as Jeff came forward to meet her. His eyes sparkled as they exchanged pleasantries. He apologised for being unable to meet her, but made no attempt to explain his absence.

Behind them, Virgil struggled a little to pick up her luggage in one go, but eventually managed.

Jeff directed her attention skywards. The cliffs curved steeply upwards, a long way, but close to the top she saw the gleam of glass and steel.

"That's the villa."

"I do hope we're not talking _steps_ here, darling."

Jeff grinned. "The elevator's right this way."

And it was, built into a short tunnel in the rock.

_- How much had it cost to install this lift into solid rock? -_

Jeff hit two buttons. "I have a couple of things to take care of." The lift began to move smoothly. "Virgil – take Lady P. up to the guest room will you? I'm sure she'll want to freshen up. Then maybe you'd like to join us for drinks by the pool, Penny? I'll have one of the boys show you down."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow. Jeff bent his ear down to her as she moved close and stood on tiptoe to whisper discreetly in his ear.

"The _guest_ room?"

He glanced down at her, a slightly concerned look on his face. He lowered his tone so that Virgil could not easily overhear.

"Mother's here just for tonight. She's awfully old-fashioned, and she doesn't miss much. _Please_, Penny? Just this one night?" he begged.

His expression was so comical that she laughed. The great Jeff Tracy, afraid of his mother? This was going to be more fun than she thought.

...

An hour or so later there was a soft knock at the door of the 'guest room' – which had turned out to be a large suite that wouldn't have been out of place in a glamorous five-star hotel.

Penny went to the door. There, leaning casually against the deep-set frame, arms and legs folded, was a devastatingly handsome young man.

The Creighton-Ward-ometer of male beauty swung violently clockwise.

She liked to think this internal scale was a purely objective measure. Penny considered herself a connoisseur of all sorts of things. Good wines, music, works of art, _et_ _naturellement,_ male pulchritude.

Virgil had clocked well enough, but this one almost went off the scale. Tall, topping six-feet, though certainly not Virgil's height, and a sleeveless tee showing off some serious upper body strength, he looked like he spent most of his spare time pumping iron. Both arms were heavily tattooed and she saw the flash of a mermaid. The unruly blond hair was shot through with the Tracy auburn. Amber eyes, again. They were wandering over her in curiosity. The slight crook of the nose – broken at some stage? - somehow seemed to add to the overall charm.

_Very_ beautiful indeed, but a trifle young for her taste. Jeff need have no fears. Probably.

"John, I presume?" she said proffering a hand.

The same brief look of confusion she'd seen in Virgil's eyes earlier.

"Er, no, ma'am. I'm Gordon. Dad sent me up to ask if you'd like to join us by the pool. Or in it, if you prefer." He flashed her a mischievous grin, and there was a quick down and up action of the eyes that suggested he would like, very much, to see her in a bikini.

Penny tried to regain her composure. _Three_ grown up sons? The planned fortnight alone with Jeff in the sun seemed to be fast becoming a distant dream. She pulled herself together. It wasn't all bad.

"Not now, darling. But perhaps you and I could cool off another time?" she purred provocatively.

"_Flirt all you like," _Jeff had said. No harm in making a start.

...

The villa was fairly well what you might expect an outrageously wealthy man to own. The bedrooms were built around the exterior of a huge circular complex the size of a small shopping mall. The interior overlooked the huge hallway below, the whole space flooded with light from the rotunda.

The staircase which spiralled lazily upwards around the rim alone probably cost more than the average Malibu beach-house.

Gordon had taken her downstairs and drawn her into the main living area off to the side of the dome. It was another substantial space, complete with full floor to ceiling windows to take in the view, and a staged area with a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of concert grand perched on it. She wondered if they flew in guest musicians.

She lingered a few moments, admiring some of the art work on the walls. There were some very expensive paintings, and the style was eclectic. Jeff clearly liked good art, but he was not wedded to a particular style. She spotted a couple of well-known impressionist pieces, and a smaller, but exceptionally expensive renaissance piece. Much of the work, though, was modern, and, as a keen art-lover herself, she could spot some rising young stars without as much as a glance at their signatures. One large canvas, a Braquian pastiche, puzzled her. She decided she liked it, but she couldn't place the artist. Frowning, she looked at the initials. G.U.S. It rang no bells. She made a mental note to ask Jeff about it.

Overall the house was impressive. A little smaller than her Kent mansion, perhaps, but even billionaires these days couldn't compete with the Georgians.

"This way, your Ladyship," Gordon gestured.

She followed him out onto the patio which in turn opened onto an enormous pool; this was not your average beach-house pool, it was Olympic-sized, and wider in places. Laned on the house side. At the far end she could see a three-meter springboard and a high-dive platform. The water was occupied by a couple of splashing, noisily excited swimmers. There seemed to be a beach ball concerned, but who or what, exactly might be involved in the game, she couldn't quite make out from this distance.

On reflection, ten seconds might not be such a long time to abandon this particular pool.

Jeff greeted her good-naturedly, gestured to a man who at a guess was in his sixties and attired in traditional Baju Melayu. The man reached for a tray.

"Lady Penelope – meet Kyrano. He runs our household. We couldn't possibly manage without him."

Kyrano gave a short bow. Jeff reached to the tray, and pressed an ice-cold Happy Hollander into her hand.

_- Perfect choice. Our Americans cousins do some things right -_

To their right, an elderly lady lay on a sun-lounger, reading a magazine.

"Mother? This is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward."

Penny extended a hand. "Delighted to meet you."

The old lady chuckled and peered at her through heavy spectacles.

"A real English Countess, huh?"

She held tightly to Penny's hand. The drawl was heavy mid-West, a little more pronounced that Jeff's own. Oklahoma. Or was it Kansas? Penny frowned, annoyed at the momentary lapse in recall.

"Was that you flying in earlier, darlin'?"

"Virgil collected her, Mother."

"Oh, you're Virgil's young lady, are you?" The old lady patted her hand. "That's good. Lovely boy, high time he got himself a nice girl." She chuckled knowingly and lowered her voice. "We'll be hearing wedding bells soon, no doubt!"

Penny opened her mouth to protest, caught Jeff's pleading look, shut it again. She extricated herself from the old woman's grasp with some difficulty.

"Lovely to meet you, Mrs Tracy."

"Oh, call me Grandma, dear, everybody does."

Beside her Jeff whistled piercingly, as if summoning a labrador. The swimmers broke off their game and started to swim lazily over.

"Hey, you kids, come and meet Lady Penelope."

A young man and woman emerged from the pool, grabbing towels. Jeff introduced the girl first.

"Tin-Tin, this is Lady Penelope."

A pretty girl, but surely _not_ a Tracy. Her slim bikini-clad body was the colour of acorns, her glistening wet hair jet black, her eyes almost as dark. Penny wondered where she came from. The girl dried a hand quickly and extended it with a faint curtsey. She looked a little overawed.

"Lady Penelope." The English was charmingly accented.

"Tin-Tin is Kyrano's daughter. She lives with us," Jeff said simply. Tin-Tin did not appear to be simply another servant, but Penny suspected this was all the explanation she was going to get.

"Please. Just Penelope. Or Penny if you like."

She was rewarded with a shy smile.

Penny turned her attention to Tin-Tin's companion. Now this surely _was_ a Tracy. He was rubbing vigorously at blonde curls with his towel.

"Sorry about this, your ladyship." He finally finished and shook hands.

"_John, I presume_?" she asked, a little helplessly.

He jolted comically. "Jeez, I sure hope not." he looked himself up and down suspiciously and looked at Gordon. "Have I morphed or something?"

"Nope. Just the same ugly mutt you always were."

"Ignore him. He has a problem with my obviously superior looks. I'm Alan, Lady…I mean, Penelope."

It made sense, on closer inspection. He didn't look old enough to be twice-married. Barely out of his teens, Penny thought. About Gordon's height and build, but less of it looked like pure muscle. The same strong Tracy bone-structure, but there was a slight sulkiness to the mouth which detracted a little from the looks. Both the puppy fat and the pout he would hopefully outgrow shortly. Jeff's piercing blue eyes he hopefully wouldn't.

_Four_ brothers. Penny was perplexed. How was it that there seemed to be no record of this quartet of billionaire playboys?

"Good to meet you, Alan. My goodness…" She swallowed, almost not daring to ask the next question. "There aren't any more of you, are there?" She shot a sideways look at Jeff. "I thought I was coming for such a nice quiet little holiday."

Jeff's face screwed up a little. She suspected he was actually finding this funny. "Remind me who you've met and who you haven't"

Penny mentally ticked them off. "Virgil, Gordon and Alan, dear, and you war…told me about John, though I haven't actually bumped into him yet."

"Okay," Jeff said. It looked as though he was having some trouble remembering, as he was actually counting them off on his fingers. "Sounds like that just leaves Scott." Was he joking? She looked at him, hoping fervently that he was. But he looked deadly serious.

"Scott?" she asked faintly. "He may be just one Tracy more than I can cope with, darling."

"Don't worry, honey" Jeff told her with dark humour. "He frequently has that effect on the rest of us too."

...

She had finally met the elusive John. As she was on her way in to change for dinner that evening, two men had emerged from the lift talking softly together. They paused as she approached.

_- Chalk and cheese -_

One was tall, rangy man, almost Virgil's height, but slimly built, and altogether more angular. High cheekbones, _lovely_ bone structure, she noted approvingly. The long blond hair was slicked back neatly into a ponytail. He had been wearing spectacles but he slipped them off, and regarded her with piercing, enquiring blue eyes. He extended a hand slowly. His eyes didn't leave hers for a moment.

"You must be Penelope. It's real good to meet you, ma'am."

"John," she said, with some satisfaction.

He took her hand, and gave a lazy, knowing smile, but his eyes never dropped from hers, his attention utterly focused on her. "I've been looking forward a great deal to getting to know you, ma'am."

She'd seen these tactics before.

- _Make a woman feel like she's the only thing in the world that matters –_

She extricated her hand somewhat regretfully, and dragged her eyes away from the deep blue pools over to the _cheese_, who was shuffling impatiently, hands in pockets.

There had been a lottery in the Tracy gene-pool, she reflected, and this poor guy had lost, big-time. He was almost a head shorter than John, a slight, unkempt man with a mop of thinning, unruly hair. Eye colour was impossible to ascertain, as his eyes were hidden behind thick horn-rimmed spectacles. The teeth were crooked. He was dressed shabbily for someone with such a lot of money, and his clothes were stained with something that looked suspiciously like mustard. Penny swallowed a mild feeling of repulsion and extended a hand cautiously. He kept his firmly in his pockets.

"You must be Scott?" she asked uncertainly.

His expression changed. "M-m-m-must I indeed?!" he snapped, and swung about on his heel. As he strode off into the distance, Penny turned, utterly confused now, to John.

"Hackenbacker. Professor Hiram J." John said. "He works closely with us on the technical side of the operation. He lives here on base."

"Hiram J. Hack..hack….Is that a real name?"

"Hackenbacker. We tenda just call him 'Brains'".

"I seem to have offended him."

"Don't mind him. It was probably the Scott reference. Brains is a good guy really, but he's kinda Asperger's. Doesn't like people much, 'specially Scott." He read her querying expression. "Brains designs our planes, Scott tests 'em. Usually to extremes." He grinned. "We call them the 'make 'em and break 'em twins'. They pretty well detest one-another."

_- They build planes here? -_

"So where can I find Scott?"

"He's off-base right now. Don't worry. He'll come back when he's hungry, always does." He shot her a half-amused glance.

...

Some time later Penny stole a glance at her watch.

"Oh dear," she muttered. "Late again. Parker, however will I manage without you?"

She was used to her clothes being laid out for her. Half an hour late, and she hadn't yet quite put the finishing touches to her make-up. Jeff had said formal dress. Should she wear the tiara?

A soft bell sounded and a voice sounded over an unseen intercom. John's, she thought.

"Clear the pool area please. I repeat, clear the pool area."

_- Time to feed the barracudas?_ -

She giggled at little at the thought. As she reached for her perfume, the glass ornaments on the dressing table began to tinkle. Penny frowned. The tinkling grew louder. The at-first almost imperceptible vibration slowly became a low-pitched roar.

"What on earth…?" Penny gasped. Her hands went to her ears.

The voice on the intercom continued to drone on.

"Scott's on approach right now, folks. Apologises for being late, and says to mind out 'cause he's COMIN' IN KINDA _HOT!_"

The voice rose to a shout as the roar became truly deafening.

Penny clamped her hands over her ears and tried not to grimace. The roar began to fade, to be replaced by a banging noise. It took some moments before she realised someone was knocking at the door.

"_Penny?!_"

She opened the door to find Jeff standing there looking resplendent in dinner jacket and black tie.

"Just checking to see how you're getting along."

He drew her out into the circular walkway and stepped back to admire her.

"You look absolutely fantastic." He sounded as if he meant it. Always a good sign.

"Really? I'm almost done, dear." She realised she was shouting.

"_Almost_?"

She chose to ignore the slight agitation in his voice.

"What _was_ that noise, darling?" she enquired. Jeff shook his head and said something back at her. "Sorry?" she asked. Still a little deaf.

"_That_…was Thunderbird One."

"And what is a Thunderbird One, exactly?"

He shook his head again and chuckled. "It's kinda hard to explain. I'll get one of the boys to show you tomorrow. Are you ready to go down, now?"

Penny protested. "I just need to powder my nose, darling."

"You look perfect. Dinner's practically on the table." He looked a touch desperate.

"Just ten minutes. _Please_ Jeff."

Her eye was caught by movement on the stairs behind the billionaire. A breathless young man was advancing upwards at an extraordinary velocity from the nether regions of the house. He appeared to be taking the steps at least four at a time, muttering to himself agitatedly all the while. He was dressed in some kind of flying uniform but he was streaked with mud and other indeterminate substances, leaving a trail behind him.

Jeff made an odd growling noise as the newcomer powered passed them, a breath of oil-fume-laden air in his wake. The youngster swung around, moving off backwards, barely more slowly than before. He waved an arm above his head.

"Dad…Lady…you must…Pen….sorry, your Ladyship."

He came to a stop, and hovered indecisively for a moment, danced forward a little, held out a hand, and then realised it was covered in grime. After a quick attempt to wipe it clean on the jump suit, he apparently realised it was a hopeless cause and abandoned the attempt to shake hands. He started to back off again.

"Late, I know….I'm really sorry. Sorry about the touch-down, sir. Shower. I really need to take a shower. Ten minutes. _Ten_ minutes." He held up all ten digits, in case, presumably, they were unclear what _ten_ might mean. "Really, _really_ sorry…" gestured helplessly, and fled.

Penny took another deep breath. This force twelve hurricane was presumably the final Tracy brother. Jeff confirmed it by yelling after his son.

"Scott?! Get your sorry ass back here!"

The reply was lost in the ether. Jeff grunted unhappily.

Penny turned on him sternly. "There you are, you see. We _do_ have ten minutes."

"We can start without him. In fact, that's probably a very good idea…"

"Nonsense."

"You don't know Scott," he grumbled.

"I promise to be done in five minutes," she said firmly.

Jeff let her retire back into the guest room, though the look in his eyes suggested he feared he'd never prise her out again.

Penny sat on the ottoman and closed her eyes. This really wasn't turning out the way she had expected. She exhaled forcefully, opened her eyes again, and reached for her lipstick.

...

By the time Penny reached the top of the stairs ten minutes later, the hurricane had reappeared at the bottom, showered and shaven - and changed, at least in part.

By now Virgil had calmly taken charge, and, having got his brother into cuff-links, was turning his attention to the bow tie, hindered by a considerable amount of squirming.

"_Will_ you stand still?" Virgil complained.

Penny contemplated the newcomer. Mid-twenties, perhaps? Over half a head short of his giant of a brother, an inch or two shy of six foot, perhaps. Slender; like John, just a touch too thin.

_- But very, very_ _pretty_ -

"Dad's going to kill me if I make us any later for dinner."

"He'll kill you if you come in to dinner looking like something that got caught up in Gordon's tow line." Virgil responded evenly. "He wasn't terrifically pleased by the way you brought your 'bird down, either. Stand _still_ for Pete's sakes!"

"I'm _late_."

"So is Penelope,"

"I hear she's a woman – kinda goes with the territory," the youngster muttered sourly.

Virgil caught sight of Penny on the stairs and gave his brother's tie a warning tug.

"Yeah, well your little manoeuvre blew out a bottle of Dad's thirty-year old single malt and shattered the pool drinks table," he said loudly, and straightened. "You are _not_ flavour of the month in there."

Scott moaned and swore softly.

"Mind your language." Virgil looped a hand around the nape of his brother's neck, pulled him close until their heads touched briefly. An odd gesture, but it seemed to have a faintly calming effect. "There. All done. You set?" he said, and to Penny's amusement actually turned his brother's hands palm-up to inspect them, before finally releasing him.

He glanced up and smiled at Penelope who was descending the last few steps, then crooked his arm in an obvious gesture. She gave him an old-fashioned look but took it, and they made an entrance together, Scott trailing somewhere behind them.

Jeff smirked as he saw them enter. He stepped up and wrapped her free arm firmly around his own, at the same time disengaging Virgil's.

"I'll take it from here, son, if you don't mind."

He shot a filthy look over his shoulder at Scott, standing behind them.

"Good of you to join us, boy. And so _quietly_."

It prompted a rush of sarcastic comments from around the room.

"Yeah, nice one, Scott…"

"Just land her on the roof next time. It'll do less damage..."

Scott threw up his hands in anguish.

"I'm sorry. _Guys_. Really, I'm really sorry…everything took forever…" He caught the look on his father's face and mumbled another apology.

Jeff turned to Penny, and said loudly.

"Penny, I thought I had a beautiful old malt to offer you, but apparently I'm right out. What else can I get you?"

...

Shortly they moved off into the dining room and took their places around the table. Jeff held a few thousand dollars' worth of chair for Penny, next to his own seat at the head of the table. Virgil sat himself on the other side of her, and John eased his rangy frame into the seat opposite her, studying her again with that cool, half-amused expression.

Beside her, though, Jeff had caught Scott's sleeve purposefully and the younger man bent low to his father. Penny was close enough to make out the exchange, although she could not really follow it.

"How'd it go, son?" Jeff's tone had changed. Altogether more business-like and less irritated.

"No real problems, sir."

Jeff waited, clearly expecting something more. Scott shrugged.

"There were some problems with the hydraulic supports."

"Why didn't you call for back-up?"

"I knew by the time the cavalry arrived I'd have her out of there. And I did."

"That's hardly the point."

"No, sir."

"I'm putting Alan on standby tonight."

Scott started to protest, but Jeff was having none of it.

"You've been on the go for thirty-six hours straight, boy. You're not fit to fly. Now relax tonight and have a drink if you like. You're not going anywhere tomorrow, either. I have another job for you. Full debrief at oh-nine-hundred."

"F.A.B., sir."

_- F.A.B. again? -_

Penny was curious. What was all the talk about back-up and cavalry? Had Jeff had duped the whole family into playing along with his hero fantasy?

Meanwhile at the opposite end of the table, Alan was helping his grandmother into her seat. The rest of the Tracy brothers, together with Hackenbacker and Tin-Tin, fell into place. Penny was a little taken aback when Kyrano, the Tracy manservant, came over to seat himself calmly between John and Scott.

A hush fell over the table. Penny had an uncomfortable feeling that she knew what was coming next, and she wasn't wrong. The old lady started to croak out a grace. Penny bowed her head but glanced sideways at Jeff. He was grimacing slightly and scratching his nose. Embarrassment? Wasn't Jeff Tracy one of the more outspoken humanists of his generation?

_- Curious -_

Grandmama Tracy droned on about friends and good company and thankfulness, oblivious to the coughing around the table, and toe-poking underneath it.

Finally, though, the old lady was done, and the room had broken out again into moderate pandemonium. As soon as glasses were filled, there was a toast.

"Happy thanksgiving, everyone."

"Here's to the farm, grandma."

Kyrano had somehow kept everything from spoiling or going cold, and there was much enthusiastic passing of serving dishes. There seemed to be enough to feed a small rock concert crowd, Penny mused. But, unused to the self-service style, she longed, very briefly, for Parker to appear at her elbow.

Jeff, must have read the look on her face, because he reached over, smiled and served for her.

"Allow me." He shook his head. "They're a boisterous lot. I'm sorry."

"You're very naughty. You might have warned me," she said reproachfully.

He chuckled. "I was afraid you wouldn't have come."

Penny glanced around and her gaze softened to a smile. "Of course I would, darling. It's just going to be more …_eventful_ than I expected. All your boys. Who would have thought it. There are…well, just so _many_ of them. No girls?"

"Well it wasn't for want of trying," he chuckled. "Why do you think there _are_ so many of them?"

Penny's gaze was arrested once more by the sight of Scott, who was still furiously animated, talking non-stop to Gordon. His right arm was hooked loosely around the other youngster's shoulders, pulling him close while he murmured some confidential aside.

While he was doing this, he was simultaneously ladling food, left-handed, with pinpoint accuracy from the serving dish to his plate. As his eyes were firmly fixed on his brother he hadn't actually looked at what he was doing once, and since he was wearing his watch on his left wrist, Penny was also pretty confident he was right-handed. She watched, surreally fascinated. It brought a whole new meaning to the term _eye-hand coordination._

By now, most of the considerable contents of the serving dish had worked their way onto his plate, nary a drop spilled. She began to understand why Jeff thought it might be a good idea to start without him, and why Kyrano had provided enough to keep a small army provisioned.

No-one else gave him a second glance, except for…

"_Scott Carpenter Tracy!_"

The words rang out shrilly enough to stop the whole table in mid-sentence. Alarmed, the perpetrator dropped the serving spoon he was holding. It clattered down noisily and he froze guiltily. His eyes swivelled towards his plate and his colour rose instantly. There were a couple of sniggers from around the table.

"Mind your manners, boy," his grandmother snapped waspishly.

He did not meet his grandmother's eye, but muttered something which may or may not have been "Sorry Gran...skipped lunch…".

Jeff speared a sweet potato, a little irritated.

"Let him eat, mother. He's just pulled a double shift," he grumbled, but not quite loudly enough, Penny noted with amusement, to be audible to the old lady.

Amidst some hilarity and obvious scorn from the other end of the table, Penny turned back and tried to break the awkwardness of the moment.

"Carpenter? That's unusual. Is it an old family name?"

Virgil turned, apparently surprised. "Dad didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what, dear? Believe me, your father hasn't told me very much at all."

"He named us all for the Mercury seven."

"Seven? There aren't any _more_ of you, are there?" Penny was, frankly, alarmed at the prospect.

"No, no." Virgil was quick to reassure her. "Just us five."

_- Just!_ -

"Then who are the Mercury seven, darling?"

Virgil gestured with a fork between mouthfuls. "Astronauts…Mercury – the earliest space programme. NASA chose seven pilots. Dad named us for them." He gestured around the table in turn. "Johnny here is named for John Glenn."

John Glenn she _had_ heard of.

"Scott for Malcolm Scott Carpenter." He lowered his voice. "_Don't_ call him Malcolm …Leroy Gordon Cooper – for Malcolm, read Leroy, but worse; under _no_ circumstances call Gordo _Leroy_; his idea of retribution usually involves tar and feathers – and…" he struggled a little to gesture round the table "…Alan Shepard."

She dredged something up from the back of her memory. "The man who played golf on the moon?"

"That's right", Jeff said in approval.

John grinned at her. "And Virj drew the short straw. Virgil Grissom Tracy." He ignored the look his brother was dealing him. "Though it could have been worse. The remaining astronauts were called Wally and Deke."

"I think Virgil's a charming name, dear. So _Wild West_. Was there a reason for this flurry of nostalgia?"

Jeff frowned. "I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Dad was trying to write a book on early space flight, back then. It never did get published. He doesn't like to be reminded." There was an odd softness in John's voice suddenly, that Penny couldn't quite place.

"So change the subject," Jeff advised loudly. Penny made a mental note. Jeff Tracy was clearly not a man who liked to leave a project unfinished.

John did so, dutifully. He ducked under her gaze and did that thing with his eyes again. "How was the journey, Penelope?"

"Slow, dear. Sorry, I meant to say _long_."

John laughed. He risked his eyes leaving hers long enough to shoot a look at Virgil who blanked him. "Yes, probably a good deal _longer_ than it should have been."

Scott had apparently recovered from his grandmother's berating and had paused long enough in his conversation with Gordon to eavesdrop on this exchange.

"Dear g…" he choked back the blasphemy in time, apparently unwilling to risk another run-in with the old lady. Penny suspected that all the men-folk, Jeff included, had cleaned up their language for the benefit of their guests. "Dad, you didn't send _Virj_ for her, did you? It's a wonder she's not still on the interstate."

"There is nothing wrong with my driving," Virgil said in a dignified manner.

Gordon joined in. "Well, there's nothing wrong with a snail – in its natural habitat. Driving is _not_ your natural habitat bro'."

Virgil drew himself up to his full six-four-or-five and raised his voice. "What they are neglecting to tell you, Penelope, is that Dad sent me because I am now the _only_ Tracy who has a clean driving license…

"..._easy_, big fella…" Alan interjected.

"…or in some cases…" Virgil looked pointedly at his father "…has a license _at all_…".

Jeff merely scowled in response.

Someone coughed lower down the table, "Mine's clean"

Virgil swung back and glared fiercely down the table, "…or who has not totalled his wheels in the last twelve months."

"I did not total my car" Scott said, eyeing up a forkful of turkey.

"It was a wreck," Virgil retorted.

"_I_ did not total my car. The vehicle flying through the air at me from the wrong side of the carriageway totalled my car. I had nothing to do with it." He dispatched the turkey.

"Boys," Jeff growled. "If you don't calm down a little then some of you are going to be on latrine duty in the morning."

"Is it always like this?" Penny whispered into his left ear.

Jeff sighed. "No," he admitted. "Tonight they're on their best behaviour."

...

Point-scoring was clearly a favoured Tracy sport, but it _had_ toned down, at least a little, after Jeff's threat. Penny was increasingly fascinated by the strangeness of this noisy family. She wondered, briefly – but only briefly - what it might have been like to have had brothers.

It all seemed so very different from her own quiet upbringing as the only child of an indulgent father and absent mother. It had simply been herself and the old Brigadier, and a handful of retainers, who came and went, as domestic staff do. She had had an idyllic relationship with her father, and she missed him terribly.

Since the Brigadier departed, leaving her a stately home, a title, and a heap of death duties, Parker had been the most stable thing in her rather exciting and rollercoaster life as executor of a large estate, fashion guru and sometime spy.

Penny spooned a little pumpkin pie into her mouth, wondering what it would taste like. It was nicer than it sounded. Then she settled back to do what she did best, observe.

Penny was a keen student of human nature, and it fascinated her to try to work out all the ins and outs of the Tracy family. Grandmama, she noted, had clear favourites. Her attention had been firmly fixed right – perhaps Alan, perhaps Tin-Tin, perhaps both, Penny could not quite see – for most of the evening. Gordon she did speak to, once in a while, but Scott she ignored.

- _Black sheep?_ -

John's gaze rarely strayed from Penny herself. He seemed interested in anything she had to say, however inconsequential. She wondered if Jeff had noticed.

Virgil or Tin-Tin would occasionally engage Hackenbacker in polite conversation, but even with Virgil's considerable bulk in the way, she could tell that Tracy celebratory family meals were a source of strain for the young scientist. It was clear he was only here for the food. She was not at all surprised when he excused himself after the main course.

Gordon and Scott seemed particularly close. It dawned on her suddenly what the bond was. They were not remotely identical, but there was _something_. Sitting where she was, Penny had a fine chance to compare the two.

The C-W–ometer went into a lively dance, swinging to and fro. It couldn't settle on either of them.

Gordon's astonishing amber-eyed, blond-copper combo gave him a distinct advantage in the 'striking' stakes.

Scott would not turn heads quite so immediately, she thought, but once you _did_ look closely...another of Jeff's blue-eyed boys, though more muted with grey than his blond brothers, hair a soft brown, close-cropped and neat. There was something faintly vulnerable and fresh-faced about him. That _helpless_ thing he did must be a real babe-magnet for maternal types, Penny mused drolly. But when his father had called him aside, she had had a momentary glimpse of something steelier. This one, she decided, needed to grow into his looks, but in his thirties he was going to be drop-dead gorgeous.

"Penny for 'em, Penny?" Jeff enquired. He gave her an odd look.

She turned, a little flustered. Had he read her mind?

"Er…no, nothing, really." She tried desperately to think of something to cover up. "I was just wondering which of your boys is the eldest."

The conversation around the table stopped as though someone had hit a switch. The entire table turned and stared at her. Penny swallowed. She had the oddest feeling that they had been waiting for this.

Gordon's eyes opened impossibly wide. "Why, Lady Penelope…isn't it obvious? I mean, what with you being a secret agent and all that, we figured you'd have it all worked out in an instant."

Virgil glanced down at her. "Yeah, Penelope. How about having a go at placing us all? Surely you've figured out what the Tracy family pecking order is?" His mouth twitched faintly.

There were some encouraging murmurs around the table.

"Yeah, come on Penny."

Penny smiled. So this was how it was going to be. She decided to play along.

"Well, all right. I'll have a go, boys." She swallowed. "Are there any sets of twins?"

"No twins," Jeff told her.

_- One cherished theory out of the window_ -

Penny re-thought quickly. The table order was surely be a clue. Older boys near to Dad, younger boys near to Grandmama.

Virgil seemed to be used to acting as a surrogate mother to his younger siblings. But John strutted an air of sophisticated coolness that his brothers seemed to lack.

_- So. The mother-hen_, _or the womaniser? -_

"All right. Well, I'll go from the youngest upwards. I hope I don't offend anyone. So, Alan, dear, I'm sorry if I'm wrong, but I can't help thinking you're the baby of the family." She was fairly confident here.

They waited expectantly. Clearly they were not going to confirm or deny anything until she had gone through the lot.

"Then Gordon, I _think_…"

Still silence. This was clearly the way to shut them all up.

"Then Scott…. then John…." there was a faint snorting sound from somewhere, quickly quashed, "making Virgil the oldest."

The room erupted.

"Oh, _man_."

"Pay up, losers."

A great deal of money changed hands, mostly twenty-dollar bills. The exchange seemed to have its own internal logic, but Penny couldn't follow the wheeling and dealing and what it might mean. John and Virgil seemed to be the primary recipients. She turned back to Jeff, to find he was wiping away a tear of laughter. As the noise subsided he looked up at the ceiling.

"Well, you deserved that tonight, boy," he said.

She had no idea who he was talking to or what the significance of the comment was.

"Not quite right, then?" she asked dolefully.

"Not quite right. Care to guess again?"

"I think, on reflection, I may have got John and Virgil the wrong way round."

The room erupted for a second time. Again, money changed hands. This time it all went to Gordon.

"Oh dear. I don't think I'm very good at this."

"Well, we're not being very fair," Gordon said charitably. "You've just met us, after all. How about we give you twenty-four hours to figure it out?"

"Boys," Jeff growled.

"Aw heck, Dad – you keep telling us she's a great sleuth. Let her prove it."

"It's all right, Jeff, dear. I'm up for the challenge," Penny said. How many more sensible combinations could there be? "But only if you'll solve one other mystery for me."

"Sure, Lady P., fire away," Gordon said amicably.

"What does F.A.B. stand for?"

There was a sort of stunned silence. Then a low murmur around the room.

"Well it doesn't really mean…" Virgil began, but he was cut off by Gordon.

"Fine and bright."

"Fine and bright?"

"Yeah, fine and bright. You know, kinda like fine and dandy, roger, over and out, that kind of thing," Gordon gabbled.

None of them quite met her eye.

...

She finally had her chance to grab a quiet moment with Jeff somewhere after midnight.

Over coffee, there had been music. Virgil, it turned out, was an astonishingly good pianist. No need for visiting artists, then; the Tracy family had its own recitalist. After a couple of short classical pieces he turned his attention to light jazz. After he was done, someone put on some dance music, and the boys set to clearing the table.

At one point, as the music changed, Virgil and Scott, who happened to be passing one another, had swung round and without so much as a word or glance at the other had clinched hands and broken into a passable tango across the living room, Virgil leading. They were deadpan throughout. When the music finished they calmly continued to clear the table as though nothing had happened, leaving Gordon, Alan and Tin-Tin helpless with laughter, and even the ultra-cool John grinning.

But one-by-one, they had all gone to bed. Alan, Gordon and Tin-Tin had been the first to leave.

"_Fine and bright?_" Penny had heard incredulously in the distance. The reply had been lost.

A couple of cognacs later, and Jeff lit a cigar and she took it as a signal to fetch out her cigarette holder. She perched on his knee and laid her head on his shoulder, suddenly kittenish and they smoked in companionable silence for a few moments.

"What do you think of them all?" he asked.

"You run a madhouse, Jeff Tracy," she said sternly.

He chuckled. "They are a high-octane bunch, aren't they?"

"How do you run a multi-million dollar business with all this going on?"

"They _are_ my business. You'll see what I mean tomorrow. Tracy Industries I've largely handed over to some very capable people. Most of the corporate stuff gets done by my executives, and the bits I need to sort out myself usually get done between about five in the morning and breakfast. Scott's the only one up then, and he has the sense to stay out of my way unless I need him."

Penny remembered that Jeff survived on about four hours sleep a night. The very thought made her yawn. She had no intention of being up before ten the next morning.

"You've had an awfully long day."

"Yes." She suddenly realised she had. A combination of claret and cognac was also having an effect.

- _Shame about the malt –_

Had she said that out loud, she wondered? She yawned again.

"You _are_ tired. Up you come, Missie," he said, and to her delighted amusement, swept her up into his arms like a ten year old.

She began to giggle as he headed for the stairs. Surely he wasn't going to carry her all the way up?

"Ssh!" he admonished.

She felt Jeff hesitate as he approached the stairs. Maybe he _was_ getting a little old for this. But the pause was to let someone else come down. She heard the thundering sound of approaching feet. Penny glanced up.

Despite his reported lack of sleep, the hurricane was still up. Down to storm force, now, perhaps. An early riser, Jeff had said, so he obviously took after his father, burning the candle at both ends. He'd changed into a black t-shirt and shorts, and was barefoot. He looked a little taken aback to see them.

"Are you okay? If her Ladyship's ill, I'll be glad to take her upstairs for you. You know you need to watch your back, sir."

"She's not ill."

"Is she…?" he hesitated.

"No, she's not drunk, either." Penny felt, rather than heard, a deep chuckle part-interrupted by a smoker's cough. "Honestly, boy, you can be awfully dense, sometimes."

Scott mulled this one over and gave them a look that Penny couldn't quite fathom.

"Tell you what," Jeff continued. "I'll cut you a deal. Say nothing to your grandmother, and I won't tell her that it was you who was responsible for the midnight raid on the refrigerator."

At this threat, Scott backed away. "I'll just…" Whatever he had been about to say, he stalled, flushed, and fled again.

Jeff sobered a little. "He's probably right about my back. Down you go, little one."

"Poor baby. I think we embarrassed him. Is he really off to raid the fridge?"

It was just two hours since they had finished eating.

"Sure is."

Penny shook her head wonderingly. "Where does he put it all? He's such a slim little thing compared to the others."

"Crazy metabolism. Burns carbs faster than anyone I know. Up we go."

Jeff had ushered her up the stairs like a school-girl.

But despite her sleepiness, she had stayed awake for some time that night, musing over the curious day she had had, and half-expecting Jeff to creep into her room like a badly behaved sophomore in the girls' dormitory.

He didn't. Clearly Grandmama Tracy's influence was more powerful than hers. She drifted into sleep, dreaming of pools full of sharks, and rumbling thunderstorms.

...


	2. Chapter 2

Introductions.

**Day 2.**

The next day dawned as bright and sunny as the first. So different from England in late November.

Penny stretched, luxuriating in the large bed with its soft sheets and pillows. She really did not want to get up. But at least she was being served tea, not coffee – and proper breakfast tea, at that, with a teapot and a china cup.

"Thank you, Kyrano," she purred. "Where did you learn to make tea like this?"

He named a prestigious London hotel.

"Nothing but the best."

He half-bowed. "Nothing but the best," he agreed.

"So how long have you been with the Tracys?"

"Sixteen years, my lady."

"Sixteen? My goodness. You must have known the boys since they were children."

"Yes, indeed."

"Did you know Jeff's wife?"

A shadow crossed his face. "I did meet her briefly, a few years before I came to work for Mr Tracy."

"What happened to her, Kyrano?"

"Her last child. There were…complications."

"She died in labour?" Penny frowned. Wasn't that very unusual these days? She thought of Jeff. What must it have been like to be left with a newborn and four other boys? "With Alan, I take it?"

A slow smile spread across Kyrano's face. "Surely you wouldn't expect me to answer that, my lady?"

Penny remembered the previous night's wager. "Of course not, Kyrano, I'm sorry. Tell me about your daughter."

He shrugged a little. "What is to tell? Her mother died some time ago, and she came to live with us. Mr Tracy has been very kind. He has sent her to the finest schools, and paid for it himself."

"Don't you worry about her being the only female on the island?"

"Tin-Tin can take care of herself." There was a glint in his eye.

"I'm sure she can."

...

It was already hot. Penny had eyed up the pool with a longing eye after breakfast, but Jeff had ignored her and drawn her into his office. Plainly he meant this to be a working holiday.

"I have to work, this morning, Penny, but I'll get Scott to come up and give you a tour."

_- Delightful. Severe weather warning -_

"This is the hub of operations."

It didn't look like much. The rather modest executive office of a businessman. A desk, a computer, some filing systems.

"You look disappointed."

"I suppose I expected a little more of the centre of operations of a top-secret organisation, darling," she said lazily.

Jeff grinned. He pressed a button on his desk. "Something more like this?"

Penny swayed, then realised it wasn't she who was moving. The wall behind Jeff had swung away and the floor was doing a complicated little jig to rearrange the room. The desk shifted soundlessly to one side. The light levels dropped, and she found herself staring into a darkened computer room, illuminated by a screen at the far end, and banks of LEDs, gleaming computer terminals showing what appeared to be satellite data, and other equipment the function of which she couldn't begin to guess at.

As the wall swung back, John and Hackenbacker, who had been poring over one of the terminals together glanced up, nodded an acknowledgement, and went back to their study.

It all looked extraordinarily high-tech.

"Something like that, yes." She tried not to sound over-awed, but in truth, she was suddenly struck forcefully by the notion that Jeff's ramblings might not all be fiction.

"International Rescue…?"

"…started basic operations a few weeks ago. We're about to go fully public. We really need you on board now, Penny. Now…" he leaned forward and hit another button on his desk. "Scott will show you around the rest of the base. I'm pretty sure I'll be finished in time for a late lunch."

He gestured her into the operations centre, and as she crossed the threshold, the wall behind her slipped smoothly back into place, cutting her off from Jeff's office. She hesitated, feeling suddenly awkward.

John's blue eyes alighted on her, and she immediately felt a little better.

"What do you think, Penelope?" he held out a hand.

"Well, I'm rather astonished, dear. I must admit to suspecting that International Rescue was a figment of your father's over-active imagination."

"Not a figment. A product," he replied. "Come and look." He held out a hand to draw her close.

"Are these satellite pictures?"

"They certainly are." His tone of voice was approving, as though she'd said something especially bright. "We have a space station in geo-synchronous orbit above the base, and a network of other spy satellites around the earth to relay signals. Not much can go on that we don't know about."

Momentarily, one of the many doors that led from the operations centre swung back and Scott appeared. He peered over John's shoulder, leaning casually on his brother who made no move to shoo him.

_- Tactile bunch, these Tracys -_

"Anyone needs us," John continued, "And the space station tracks the signal. We can usually get some pretty good visuals on a situation before we send our people in."

"Doesn't anyone object to being watched?"

"Not if they don't know we're doing' it, ma'am." He flashed her a disarming grin.

"How can you keep a network of spy satellites secret?"

"To all intents and purposes they look like industrial satellites. We have some pretty sophisticated ways of hiding what we're up to."

"You do this yourself?"

"I dabble in communications."

"Johnny's underselling himself," Scott said dryly. "He collects college degrees. What are they in, John? Computer hacking, texting and astrology or some such thing?"

"Scott struggles with words of more than two syllables." John's tone was disparaging. "Computer technology, communications, and astronomy, if you really want to know. And I'm about to complete my doctoral thesis. I have been known to hack the occasional mainframe, it's true, but the texting and astrology we leave to Tin-Tin."

_- All this and time for women, too? -_

"He and Hiram here have most of the bases covered in our technical department." Scott told her.

"Wh-wh-when you're not sabotaging them."

"Something you want to say to me, Hiram?" The tone was mild enough, but Penny could detect a dark undercurrent.

The scientist rounded on him. "W-w-well, since you m-m-mention it, you know d-d-darned well that Thunderbird One is not d-d-d-designed to come down the w-w-way you brought her d-d-down last night.."

"There'll be times when I've no choice but to bring down faster than I did yesterday. You should have factored that in when you built her," Scott said shortly.

"She can handle the stresses when you l-l-land her horizontally. She's not designed to c-c-come in that fast nose-up. You could have done untold d-d-d-damage."

"I did. I broke Dad's favourite coffee table. Live with it, Brains." Scott waved a dismissive hand.

The scientist scowled heavily and turned back to his work, chuntering distractedly to himself.

Scott smiled at her. "You ready to move on?"

...

"So _this_ is Thunderbird One?"

"This is my 'bird." There was a slight note in his voice.

She gazed down into the silo. The craft looked like a cross between a guided missile and a fighter jet. What exactly did it _do_? She didn't think she dared ask this question.

"So, tell me all about her, dear."

"She's the fastest thing on the planet."

"When you say fastest…?"

"We pushed her to Mach Eighteen in tests. We think she might go a bit faster."

In truth, Penny didn't quite know what that meant. He caught her expression.

"Maybe fifteen thousand mph at sea level. Even allowing for acceleration and deceleration constraints I can reach anywhere on the globe inside an hour."

She stared at him in astonishment.

"I thought only missiles can go that fast."

He shook his head. "Nothing on earth can match this baby when she's really flat out. There are a couple of experimental fighter planes out there that might be able to give her a run for her money in a year or two."

"So what do you use her for?"

"She's an RRV – rapid response vehicle. We get an emergency call, I get there and assess the situation before we bring in the heavy gear. Our main vehicle is a monster – you'll see her in a moment – and one of my jobs is just to make sure we can land her without causing a landslip."

Scott gestured her to walk on. She had discovered, much to her relief, that he was capable of ambling along at a pace she could keep up with. Down to a surprisingly relaxed and manageable force four, today.

_- Of course_._ Grandmama is going home and Daddy is stuck in his office all morning -_

"And what is all this business about the swimming pool?"

"The most suitable place for the silo was the other side of the island. But the speed advantage we gain in her design would have been lost by the time it took me to reach her and fire her up. The only area that's close enough to the house and has enough space underneath for the thrusters turned out to be underneath the pool. Solution – retract the pool. So we drop her into the lower silo and fire her up like a rocket. If you happen to be swimming when the alarm goes off, make sure you hightail it on out of there just as fast as you can. The pool drains pretty quick."

She grinned at him. "Ten seconds, I believe. Do I get a ride sometime?"

He smirked. "Believe me, she isn't designed for comfort. There's a passenger seat, but unless you're used to pulling six Gs I wouldn't recommend it."

"Scott – is this what your father meant by the family business? Are all you boys involved in International Rescue?"

"We sure are." He shrugged. "Dad never planned it that way. But one by one we all kinda got on board with it."

Penny stopped, startled, as the door in front of her slid open.

"Oh, my goodness!"

The hangar below her made Thunderbird One's silo look like a thermos flask. The walkway extending in front of her hung above it like a thread of gossamer stretched out between two cliffs. The metal was wrought, and she could see through the gaps straight down to the floor of the hangar three hundred feet below.

"Are you okay with heights?" Scott asked cautiously.

She nodded.

"Good. Because we still haven't managed to coax Gordon across this thing."

"It's the heels, dear. They'll get stuck in the grating. I'll tiptoe."

"Let me know if you need to be carried." He kept a perfectly straight face.

She began to cross the walkway, peering down into the hangar as she did so. The reason it needed to be so big was that it contained an awful lot of equipment. The most obvious and impressive was a huge green transport plane, rising upwards towards them on metal rests. The design resembled nothing she had ever seen before. The front end was round-nosed and stubby, but there was a gap in the central area. Penny could see why.

Running underneath the main body, a set of container pods were strung along what looked like a giant conveyer belt.

"What are those?"

"We keep the equipment we figure we're most likely to need in the pods – ready to load to the transport before launch. Some of the other stuff…" he leaned precariously out across the safety barrier and waved a hand "…is down at the sides of the hangar. I'll take you down there later if you're interested. Gordon won't forgive me if I don't show you our submersible, Thunderbird Four."

"I thought a Thunderbird was your plane."

"Nope. She the GXP7005, mark 1. It just makes sense to refer to them all by our call signs. Mine's Thunderbird One. Virgil flies the heavy duty transport down there – Thunderbird Two. Three is our space rocket – we're in the process of training Alan to handle her. I'll show you in a few minutes. Gordon is our water-baby. He handles Four."

"And John?"

"The space station, Thunderbird Five. He's a fully trained cosmonaut. We kinda snuck him out from under the noses of NASA." There was an edge of pride in his voice that was at odds with the sparring she had heard previously. "We managed to drag him home for thanksgiving this year, but he's spent a lot of his time up there in space getting the station systems ready. Once she's fully operational, though, he'll be able to run most of the show from the operations room on the island." He glanced back down at Thunderbird Two. "This is our main rescue vehicle. She can transport a huge amount of equipment – or casualties, if need be – to and from danger zones."

"She doesn't look as though she should get off the ground."

"Neither does a bumble bee, ma'am. Thunderbird Two can reach Mach 5."

"And how can you keep something that size a secret? Surely when you launch you must attract the attention of every satellite over the hemisphere?"

"We have the most sophisticated stealth technology on the planet. Hiram can be a pain sometimes, but he really is an exceptional engineer. To all intents and purposes we're invisible to all satellites except our own. If we do get any slippage on radar, we plan to use Tracy aerospace as a cover."

He indicated to her and they began to move on.

"Experimental aircraft testing. That's what the guys who built the base think we're doing here. The planes we shifted over in parts. The computer systems for the planes are fully internal to the base. Someone would have to physically access the silos or the planes themselves to steal the specs or do us serious damage, and we've made that pretty well impossible, too. I guess as we do more rescue work we may attract trouble, but that's partly where you and folks like you come in." He didn't elucidate further.

They reached the far end of the hangar, and Scott led her through a maze of corridors and up a flight of steps into a third silo. Beneath them, a rocket rose needle-like out of the gloom. It was considerably larger than Thunderbird One.

"Thunderbird Three, yes? And you use this…?"

"Mostly to reach the space station. But we could potentially tackle a space rescue we think. We haven't started training procedures for that yet, but as soon as Alan is fully trained up, I'm going to mock up some emergency scenarios and we'll see how far we can push this baby."

He gestured her into a lift.

They emerged into the brilliant sunlight out of the gloom of the hangars, and he reached for his shades. Penny wished she had had the foresight to bring hers. She realised, suddenly, that they were almost back at the house. An all-weather tennis court lay to the left, and the swimming pool lay just in front of them. Someone was in there, doing laps at a furious rate. Gordon, she thought.

As they skirted around the edge, Scott suddenly broke away from her and snatched up a towel. A moment later she realised why as he flicked it expertly at the rear end of a brother who was sun-bathing _au naturel_ – though thankfully face-down – on one of the loungers.

"Ow, Jeez!"

"Cover up, kid." Scott growled as he tossed the towel to land expertly over the offending backside. "Why aren't you at work, anyway?"

"I'm on standby, remember?"

"This is not what we mean by being on standby. Go and check the duty log before I bust your ass all the way back to boot camp. I'll talk to you later."

Alan turned, positioned the towel. He was foolish enough to continue to argue. "Gordon isn't working." He gestured at the pool.

On cue, Gordon powered past them, showering them with droplets.

"He's working _out_."

"Well, how come _you_ get the good job, bro'?" Alan objected, glancing up at Penelope.

"Dad's busy, Virgil's halfway to Kansas and John's recalibrating Five's sensors. Now stop arguing with me, and go."

Alan got to his feet and moved off, trailing the towel and grumbling.

"I apologise for that, your Ladyship," Scott said.

She suspected that he was reserving the real ticking off for a moment when she wasn't around.

She looked out over the pool. "Gordon's quite the swimmer, isn't he?"

"He surely is, ma'am." Scott's voice warmed. "As a matter of fact he took an Olympic gold when he was just sixteen. We were all real proud of him."

"A gold?" She was surprised. Gordon had not struck her as the sort to have the self-discipline necessary to make the school swimming team, let alone win an Olympic medal. She thought of the upper body strength.

"Butterfly stroke?"

"That's right."

"Well I thought it was just Jeff that was the dark horse. Turns out there's a whole stable of you. And where did you learn to fly?"

"Dad's crop-duster." He gave a brief grin.

"I meant grown-up planes, darling. Top gun or air force?"

"Air force, ma'am." He was polite, but his tone betrayed what he thought of the navy.

"Darling, I know you're American, and you probably can't help yourself, but I do wish you'd stop calling me 'ma'am'."

"I'll try." He sounded dubious.

"Now, tell me, Scott…" Penny stopped, rested against the patio door momentarily.

He looked up at the note in her voice.

"….how is it there is no mention of any of you on the internet?"

"Your ladyship?" Faintly mocking.

"I did my research before I came here, and I assure you that I turned up nothing on any of you. Five sons of a billionaire. And, I mean, a man doesn't win a gold medal without there being some record of it."

"Sure there's a record." He looked down and smiled. Unlike John, he wasn't one for a lot of eye contact. "But we have our own primitive stealth technology." He shrugged. "The kidnap attempts got kinda tiresome. If you want to read about Gordon's gold medal try entering 'Gordon Cooper' into the search engine."

"You use aliases."

"That and John has a neat little bug crawling around cyberspace. It's set up to look for our names or photos on the net. Any reference to us vanishes into cyber room 101."

"And what alias do _you_ use, dear?"

He gave her one of those looks she could not interpret.

"I just keep the name on my birth certificate, ma'am."

The tone was snappy. He swung on his heel and strode off, leaving her to keep up as best she could. She wondered what she had said to offend him.

_- Back up to storm force -_

...

They'd stopped for lunch. This appeared to be a moveable feast in the Tracy household. There was a cold buffet on the table, and Scott explained that the members of the household wandered in and helped themselves as their timetables permitted. He had regained his equanimity quickly enough. Food seemed to have that effect on him, she noted.

"I wonder how Virgil will get on taking Grandmama home. Does she know about what you all do here?"

"I'm not sure how much she's grasped. This is the first time she's been here while we've launched. She _seemed_ to get the idea of complete secrecy, but there's always the possibility she might let something slip to one of her gossips. Dad's seriously thinking of moving her over here full time. She'll soon get to the stage where she needs some looking after anyway."

His voice was flat. He did not sound like he was looking forward to the prospect of his grandmother's permanent presence.

Jeff's office door opened. "Sorry, Penny. I woke up to some problems at Tracy Industries this morning." Evidently the line that he got most of his business sorted out before breakfast was a minor exaggeration. "It's going to take some of this afternoon, too. Scott – you'll carry on with the tour?"

"Yes, sir."

"How far did you get?"

"Silos…" he gestured faintly.

"All of them?"

"All? Sure, the hangars, not much…" He shrugged.

Apparently he had lost the power of coherent speech again.

"He's given me a wonderful tour, Jeff," she said warmly. Scott's shoulders visibly relaxed and he shot her a grateful look.

"Yes…?" Jeff looked doubtful.

"Darling, I'm truly astonished. I can't wait to see you all go out on a rescue."

"Well I plan to leave the heroic stuff to the boys and coordinate from this end. Much as I fancied some field action, it turned out that I'm getting a little old for it all."

"Surely not," Penny purred.

"I can still fly a plane as well as these young pups. But my field commander was kind enough to point out to me that I can no longer hack an assault course at the required velocity." His voice was sour. "I guess years behind a desk don't help. Talking of which…I need to get back to mine, I'm afraid."

He threw some salad onto a plate and headed back for his office. "I promise to be done by three. Take her to the play-pen, this afternoon, boy."

...

The 'play-pen' turned out to be another part of the base largely but not entirely dedicated to International Rescue. Apparently the boundary between business and pleasure was a fine one here on the island. There was a fitness centre - games rooms, squash court, fully equipped gym, training suites, what looked like an indoor assault course together with an extraordinary suite of laboratories, a medical centre…

"Goodness, you do stock a lot of medical supplies here. Are they for rescues?"

"Not really. We store most of that stuff down next to the silos. Most of this is for our own use. We're inclined to be injury prone – goes with the territory. If it isn't too serious we can handle it in-house. We've all had some basic acute medical training."

The next door down the corridor opened up into a huge indoor arena. Penny stared in surprise.

"My goodness. This looks like it could be one of those police shooting galleries."

"That's pretty well exactly what it is. It's a virtual target range."

She shot him a sideways look. "How thrilling, darling. But I thought you were in the rescue business, not the firearms business."

Scott perched himself on a cabinet. "Dad ever tell you _why_ we decided to go into the rescue business?"

"Not really."

"Tracy Industries has a sister organisation. Have you heard of Tracy I.D.F?"

"I believe so."

"It's the charity end of the enterprise. A humanitarian outfit. We go in when natural disasters hit, and so on."

"Like the Red Cross and Oxfam, yes, I know."

"The main difference is it that it's a private enterprise. Income is generated solely by the business and channelled directly to aid. Our people go into some pretty volatile situations. Ten years ago we lost half a dozen aid workers when the village they were helping was attacked by militia. The nearest government troops were hours away, and it was a moot point whether or not they'd have turned up anyway. Dad was pretty cut up about it. International Rescue was set up in support of T.I.D.F. Sure, we'll go in to help if there's a major disaster – a 'quake or tsunami. But we'll support the aid people who go in, too – not just our own - and we'll defend them with force if it becomes absolutely necessary. We figure we're pretty well equipped to handle some other kinds of hostile situations better than most outfits, too – mid-air-'jackings, in particular. So we hope we won't have cause to use guns, but we're not taking chances. We need good people, Penny, and Father says you're the best." He raised his eyes to meet hers. "What do you say? Are you in?"

Penny was silent for a moment. For someone who couldn't string more than two words together in his father's presence, Scott Tracy seemed to have found his voice.

"Is any of this legal?"

He gave her one of those slightly unreadable looks. "For a ten mile radius around the island. The rest we're kinda looking into. But we're hoping to make friends, not enemies."

_- Shady -_

_- Sounds like fun -_

"I think you and your father can count me in," she said, finally.

"Good."

He stood up and reached inside the cabinet. After a quick glance, he picked out a weapon and tossed it to her, together with a magazine clip. "You know if you'd turned us down, I'd have had to use real bullets." He selected a weapon for himself. "Fancy singing a duet?"

She suspected this was a set-up. She could almost hear Jeff's voice.

"_Put her through her paces, son."_

She tested the gun. Perfect choice. She rammed the clip in. "Certainly."

He gestured. "You might want to change your shoes."

"Darling, the men in the black hats don't wait for a girl to change her shoes. Besides, a stiletto heel makes a formidable weapon."

"Fair enough." He booted up the computer, entered some instructions.

"Three-D environment's controlled by the machine. Virtual targets. Changes every time, so we don't know what's coming, nor do we know how many targets. Watch my back. If you get out of your depth keep your head down and stay out of my way."

Penny felt herself bristling.

"And please don't shoot me in the butt."

"Don't tempt me, Tracy."

He grinned but almost immediately darted to his right. She broke left to cover and watched as he took out a masked man with an uzi. But he was immediately targeted by a sniper and Penny busied herself with bringing down his would-be assassin.

Afterwards, she reflected that it was as though they had been working together for years. For all that she had found Scott inscrutable at times, here she could read him like a book. She was sure he felt the rapport too.

The ambidextrous thing she had seen the previous night seemed to come in handy, Penny reflected, as did the eyes in the back of the head. He could take a shot with either hand and seemed to have a knack for knocking out targets without apparently having seen them.

On the other hand, he had hesitated momentarily over the woman cradling the 'baby'. Penny, who had spotted a minute quantity of trip-wire extending from the swaddling, took her out before she blew both of them to kingdom come.

She rolled for cover as Scott brought down the final target with a neat underhand shot behind him and to the left.

_- Showing off a little now, Tracy -_

Penny rose, panting a little.

"Game over," a female voice announced.

Penny glanced warily about. "How do we know if she's telling the truth?"

"Boy, are you are devious! That's a thought. I might add a few alterations to the program; see if I can catch the others out. Hey!" He studied the read-out with interest. "We set a new record. That'll break hearts."

"Scott, tell me the truth."

He raised a startled eyebrow.

"What does F.A.B stand for?"

He considered this for a moment and then met her eye coolly. "Tell you what, your Ladyship. I'll tell you what F.A.B. means if you'll tell me, truthfully, which of us you thought were twins."

"Alan and Gordon?" she suggested hopefully.

He shook his head. "You're a terrible liar."

He knew.

- _Dammit_. -

...

"You broke the Scott-Gordo combo?" Virgil asked in some surprise. "They've held the record for months."

"Well, not any more."

Gordon, sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table, scowled. Evidently he was not happy about having his place as his brother's favourite shooting partner usurped by a mere woman.

Scott caught his expression. "Never mind, Gordo. You still hold the solo record. For the moment."

He caught Penny's eye.

_- Challenge? -_

She smiled at Gordon. "Perhaps you and I could go around together tomorrow? See if we can beat today's record?"

Gordon brightened. "Sure thing, Lady P."

"Me too?" Alan proffered, oblivious to Tin-Tin's glare. He had been quiet for most of the meal, and Penny had a shrewd idea he'd received a royal chewing about the sunbathing stunt.

Scott shook his head. "No way. Remember I warned you not to shoot me in the butt, Penelope? Ask me if I speak from experience. You do not want to go round that course with Alan."

"It was a blank for Pete's sake," Alan grumbled. "Get over it."

"So, Lady Penelope," Gordon said. He carefully extracted his wallet from his pocket and started languorously counting out a wad of twenty dollar bills.

"Ah, the wager. Indeed. Get your money out, boys. I believe I _started_ well enough last night but I see my mistake and I do think I have the full picture now. Here we go, then. From the youngest up again…

..Alan…"

- _you're buying into the dream, but don't yet quite realise that it isn't all just going to be another game of hide-and-seek with your brothers -_

"…then Gordon…"

_- not a twin but a beloved younger brother who must have come within a whisker of death…those scars I saw on your body in the pool –_

"…John…"

_- struggling to find your own identity – but – number of women notwithstanding - you are _not_ going to make alpha male, darling, however hard you try -_

"…Virgil…"

_- who figures big brother needs a little protection of his own now and then -_

"…and finally Scott."

Gordon's mouth twisted slightly. He rolled the bundle between his fingers, then with a single, regretful gesture, flicked it up the table to Jeff.

...

Grandma Tracy safely ensconced in Kansas, Jeff visited the guest bedroom that night.

Penny giggled as she slipped under his arm.

"The boys won't mind?"

"They'll be green with envy." He gave it some more thought. "Scott won't like it, he never does. It's the only thing he and his grandmother see eye to eye about. They seem to think that I should have taken holy orders after Lucy died. Whenever I brought a woman home Scott orchestrated this kind of underground resistance routine. He had the rest of them thoroughly trained in sabotage by the time he was ten."

"Oh, dear. And he and I were getting on so well." It was true. She realised that she liked the eldest Tracy a lot. In fact, she liked them all a lot.

Jeff chuckled. "He's more relaxed about it these days. Now that he realises I'm not trying to replace his mother he contents himself with the odd backhanded comment."

"You'd think he'd be more sympathetic. A man has needs. How do _they_ all manage out here, dare I ask? There isn't much of Tin-Tin to go round."

"Perish the thought," Jeff responded sternly. "Though she has a bit of a thing for Alan."

"And the others?" She pulled fondly at the hairs on his chest.

"I don't enquire too closely. Virgil has a part-time artist friend in Seattle. They don't see each other often, but I gather they make up for it when they do. Gordon – how can I put this?– is not very discriminatory. In his own terminology, swims with the sharks, paddles with the dolphins."

She giggled.

- _Okay. Didn't see that one coming -_

"John - well you know about John. Scott, I have absolutely no idea. Could be celibate for all I know. He did bring some woman back for a visit once, so I guess it must have been getting serious. She was quite a looker, some kind of model, I think."

"What happened to her?"

"Oh, she was way out of his league." He chuckled. "She married John. Briefly."

Penny gave a short laugh then hesitated momentarily.

"He's afraid of you, you know."

"John?" Jeff sounded startled.

"Scott."

Jeff grunted. "We have some mutual baggage. My fault, mostly. You don't have kids, Pen. You make most of your mistakes with the first one. But it's what I need in my field commander. I don't want some hot-shot flyboy who thinks he knows better than I do and goes rushing in to every situation half-cocked because he's too stupid to be afraid or to take orders. I want someone who is going to look after his brothers. Scott's intelligent and cautious but he gets the job done." His tone lightened. "Now, are we going to psycho-analyse the family or are we going to have stop talking and have some fun?"

So they had stopped talking and had fun. Things progressed in an entirely satisfying manner for the next half hour or so. There were, she mused, _lots_ of good things about older men. Experience. Endurance. She made some encouraging noises to let him know how much she appreciated these qualities. Events began to rise to a natural conclusion.

The moment was lost as her body froze, her whole being arrested by the most ear-splitting of explosions.

_The silos? There must be a huge amount of rocket fuel stored almost directly beneath them_…she drew back from Jeff, her eyes wide in horror.

There was a second explosion, a little less violent, followed by a series of firecrackers. Out of the window, she could see the night sky light up with reds and greens and yellows.

"Gordon!" Jeff hissed. He heaved himself furiously up off the bed.

"Jeff…."

"Little b…" he choked the words back. "This time he's gone too far, Penny. I swear I'm going to throttle him."

He grabbed his bath-robe and headed for the door. Penny collapsed into helpless laughter. Outside the window the fireworks continued. Jeff flung open the guest-room door.

"GORDON?!" He started off around the circle. "F…!! ALL, BOY, you are _not_ too old to have your hide tanned!!"

Penny lay back against the coolness of the pillows, and contemplated the events of the day, wiping away a tear from her eye.

_- F.A.B. -_

...


End file.
